


Empty, Since

by orphan_account



Series: October Fic-A-Thon [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Blood, Deadpool Shiro, Dismemberment, Kissing, M/M, Spiderman Lance, just a little, nbd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: SpideyPool Shance AUSpiderman made Deadpool a deal and now Deadpool intends to collect what he's owed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Shance, Spideypool flavored. Lance is Spiderman and Shiro is Deadpool. I tried to…find mid-points, between both. So Spiderman, but Lance. Deadpool, but maybe recognizable as Shiro (but maybe not. It’s Lance’s pov so.)
> 
> I left it open ended and…open beginning? So I can revisit if I’m so inclined and A. Build on how they meet and B. what happens after this.
> 
> Warnings for a little blood and dismemberment. Just a little. No big deal.

 

Lance dodged the wild punch from the zombiefied, sort of, man, pivoted to the side to elbow his ‘friend’ in the face while shooting a line of webfluid at the third one’s ankles. He yanked hard enough to take the man off of his feet, but hopefully not hurt him too much when he hit the ground, and jumped onto the wall to avoid another haphazard punch, this time from the second man who hadn’t seen fit to go down like a reasonable person after having his nose broken.

“Then again,” he said as he flipped over the man’s heads to the other wall and shot globs of fluid at his feet and legs. “You guys can’t feel much right? The whole zombie hypnosis deal, cuts off the pain receptors to the brain, or so Ironman says. Which is handy I guess.” He scurried up the wall and out of range just as the third man all but threw himself against the brick with a meaty slap. “Orrrr. You know. That. Also makes you pretty boring. Where’s the banter, the lively back and forth, the ‘Fuck you Spiderman, you miscreant!’”

He cringed a little as the man wobbled back, swaying on his feet as blood poured from his mouth and nose. The straightened up and started hopping and trying to grab him. It was almost funny to see a grown man hopping up and down, arms waving, like a child after a cookie jar that was just out of sight.

But also not funny and kind of sick and he really really shouldn’t have been laughing at all. His sister would be disappointed in him. He could practically here her now, see her with her fist at her hip and a finger poked in his face. ‘Oh Lance, is this how I raised you? To laugh at the brainwashed when they bust their face open? Mama must be rolling in her grave, god bless.’

Or something like that.

“Alright buddy. You just. Yeah. Let’s fix you up before my guilt complex gets any bigger.” He fired his webshooters and began to cocoon the man up. It was sort of a waste but he didn’t want to risk them hurting themselves more. Webbing them up and sticking them to a wall was going to be his best-

His senses exploded into a screaming haze of ‘Danger Danger Lance McClain’. He turned, eyebrows jumping up behind his mask at the sight of another Hypnotized Zombie Guy, he could tell by the grayish tone to this skin and slackjawed expression, shakily pointing a gun at him.

That was new. Last he’s checked moving around and biting off faces was the extent of what these guys could manage. Tool usage was-

“Oh, wait the gun.” Lance mumbled. He wasn’t worried about being hit so much as the bullet hitting one of the other men so-

A streak of red came hurtling from the sky and, with it, a flash of metal.

The gun, and a large part of the man’s arm, fell to the ground.

Lance didn’t shriek, because that would have been lame, but he did have to put a hand over his mouth to suppress it. He couldn’t do anything else, momentarily frozen at the sight in front of him. The zombie man didn’t react at all, at least not to the pain. He did stumble, what remained of his arm spurting blood, to try and get the gun up. Deadpool, the streak of red, snorted then punched the poor guy in his face.

Finally Lance moved, jumping over to them and dropping down to spin web around the man’s arm. “What the hell Deadpool! You can not cut off people’s arms!”

“It’s fine.” Deadpool said, voice eerily soothing. His shook his hand as it powered down, blood splattering of the ground as it came free. “It’ll grow back.”

Lance twisted around, momentarily grateful that his mask hid his incredulous expression. “No, it is not going to grow back!”

“…no?”

“NO! Normal people do not fucking grow limbs back!”

“Oh.” Deadpool was silent a moment, head tilted towards the bleeding man. Then he tilted to the side, humming thoughtfully. “Maybe Ironman can make him a new one. The one armed metal look is all the rage this season. Very in.”

He wiggled his own metal fingers for emphasis. Lance sputtered helplessly for a moment then groaned. This was hell. This tiny New York alley way, in the middle of a major disaster because some jackass hypnotist villain fucker was sending out ‘Kill the Avengers’ orders over the TV, with Deadpool, who he’d called to come help, suggesting they just give metal arms to people. As if Deadpool’s arm wasn’t some kind of deadly weapon.

“It is pretty awesome.” Deadpool agreed, alerting Lance to the fact he was monologuing. Again. It happened a lot when Deadpool was around. “Punches, rips, slices, dices, removes limbs. The attachment process though? I do not recommend and-”

“Spider!” The sound of his name being shouted and a large shadow overhead was all the warning he got before Allura-Thor-hit the ground near them. She looked at him, looked at the man, then sighed. “I’ll take him. Ironman has figured out the mind control frequency and is sending out via radio waves to turn people back. The order now is to round up any wounded.”

Lance’s eyes slide over to the webbed up trio. “Got it.”

“Perhaps,” She added with a pointed look. “It is time to send Friend Deadpool home.”

Lance nodded his understanding, shooting Deadpool an annoyed look. That he couldn’t see. Because of the mask. But hopefully he could feel it because Lance was putting everything he had behind it. He didn’t know what the hell he’d been thinking calling in Deadpool for backup…well, he’d been thinking the man was basically unkillable, fast, strong, and shouldn’t have any problem taking out a few persistent zombie brain guys. He’d thought they could use all the help they could get.

But now he was never going to hear the end of this from the others, never. ‘Remember that time you brought the known psychopath to help save the day and he cut off someone’s FUCKING ARM? Good going Spidey.’

“You owe me, by the way.” Deadpool said once Allura had gathered up the man, and his arm, and taken back to the air. Lance stared at him hard, hoped the disbelief was palpable in the air. “Ah ah. Don’t look at me like that kid. You said no killing. Nothing about dismemberment. You should have been more specific in your Team Up Rules, buddy.”

He tutted, waggling a finger then stepped closer to Lance. He couldn’t see his face, Deadpool’s mask made that impossible, and yet he somehow got the impression of grinning from him anyway. “No, in accordance with the Team Up Reward System-”

“This was not a ‘Team Up’ and-”

“Hey, on that note, what was with sticking me with Red Widow?” Deadpool asked, voice taking on an annoyed tone. “I hate that guy. Thinks he’s so great just because he stopped killing for the Galra and does it for you guys now? And what kind of name is Red Widow for a guy? He does look great in that skin tight number-”

“Can you not?”

“And it’s creepy because he’s always watching me. Like he wants to say something but can’t because of convenient plot devices and potential misunderstandings that would draw the plot out and no one likes that shit. He reminds me of someone I can’t remember.” Deadpool was walking closer, herding him back towards the wall. Lance put a hand out, pressed against his chest to stop him and hoped that would do the job. 

He would have no problem caving in Deadpool’s chest with a single finger but that would be a super dickhead move. Even if Deadpool would heal from it within a few minutes. Even if he was getting on Lance’s last good nerve, as his sister liked to put it.

“Are you two banging? And if so can I watch?” Deadpool asked.

Lance recoiled from the suggestion. “Are we what? Is that a joke?”

“Kinda.” Deadpool shrugged. “Thought you might have a whole Itsy Bitsy Spider thing. That’s what they call it on the internet. It’s crazy popular. I run a blog. But, anyway, about my payment.”

Lance groaned. Right, back to that. “Have you ever considered doing the right thing just for the sake of doing the right thing.”

“No.”

“Riiight. Well I’ll see what I can do, tap into Avenger funds-” AKA ask Pidge, super billionaire, about tossing Deadpool some money and then sitting through a lecture from a teenager about hiring crazed mercenaries to work for them and, fine, Lance was all of twenty one but Pidge-lectures sucked.

“Nah, don’t want money.” Deadpool leaned closer and there was that impression of smiling again. “I also haven’t unalived-” Lance sighed loudly. “Hey, you said murder was harsh so I thought a nicer word would work for you.” That wasn’t what he’d meant by ‘murder is harsh’ at all and Deadpool…probably knew that. Maybe. Lance was pretty sure the older man was actually intelligent…just.

Messed up. Really really messed up.

“Anyway. No unaliving for 90 days. Cold turkey. Been to some 12 step meetings and I think I’ve really gotten right with my maker and am thinking about making amends with people except you know, they’re either all dead or are vicious evil assholes who should be dead, but I’m thinking I could let Matt Holt out of the closet back home-”

“Wait what?”

“But, in the meantime, 90 days, no killing, and you owe me.” Deadpool finished, adding on a little jazz hands flurious for emphasis. Lance stared back blankly. Owed him? Owed him what? A cookie for doing the bare minimal of being a not shit human being by not killing people? “No, no, I don’t think he forgot. No! I don’t think he was lying either. Spidey wouldn’t lie to us.”

Lance looked around to make sure there was no one around for Deadpool to be talking to and nope he was just “Talking to yourself again. Which is weird. Have I mentioned that Ironman is willing to spring for a really great doctor-”

“No!” Deadpool shouted, suddenly very much in his space and glowering down at him (somehow. Through his mask) furiously. Lance jumped and, had he not already been flat against the wall, would have ended up stuck to it. “No doctors.”

“Okay, sorry.” Lance said, shrinking back a little. The fact he could more or less lift a tank was suddenly much less at the forefront of his brain when confronted with Deadpool’s anger. He knew for a fact Deadpool had taken on some heavy hitters in that past few months. A super advanced robot hand, a lot of guns, and being more or less unable to die did wonders against people with super strength and weird powers.

Not that Lance was one to talk about weird powers because, hello, sticks to walls, oddly bendy, proportional arachnid strength. He had the market cornered on weird.

Deadpool nodded slowly but, instead of backing off, slammed his hands onto the wall, bracketing Lance’s body. “Now. Spidey. About what you owe.”

“I have no-” Lance started to say. And then stopped, a glimmer of a memory rising up in his brain.

Apartments had been set on fire, he’d tracked it back to some arsonists for hire, Deadpool had tagged along, there was an explosion. He’d gotten hurt, caught in the blast, but not hurt all that badly. Nothing his body couldn’t take but Deadpool had been…upset. And when deadpool was upset people ended up dead. So suddenly there was been a burning warehouse and asshole arsonists who didn’t care about the fact people were dying full of bullets.

And it wasn’t like Lance was mourning for those jerks, they’d burned down apartment buildings with people sleeping inside without so much as a twinge of guilt, but killing people was still wrong. Killing people because they’d hurt Lance, and that had been Deadpool’s reasoning, was even worse. He didn’t want that on him.

He’d gotten in Deadpool’s face about, Deadpool had been…unmoved, to the tune of ‘Why shouldn’t I kill people that tried to blow you up?’ that then slid right into ‘Unless you’re going to make it worth my while’ with what was, in hindsight, a surprising amount of smoothness.

He was more sure than ever that, whatever issues Deadpool have (and there seemed to be a lot) being stupid wasn’t one of them.

And Lance, in an annoyed fit he was going to blame on the blow to head he’d taken right before the explosion, had agreed to do just that. He’d told Deadpool to name what he wanted and if he managed to be a decent person for 90 days he’d give it to him.

He’d been a little startled when Deadpool had immediately, without even stopping to think, declared he wanted a kiss. But also not that started because Deadpool was sort of all about the ‘flirty’. Which Lance could respect, he too was a fan of the flirting. Not that it ever went anywhere for him but…he was still a fan. So he’d agreed and then promptly forgotten all about it.

In his defense he had, at the time, figured there was no way Deadpool was going to manage it. He killed people for a living and not even always in some weird shady way, but in a ‘SHIELD hired him to go shoot some spy in the head’ kind of way.

“Oh.” Lance said dumbly. “Right.”

“Right.” Deadpool drawled. “You aren’t backing out on me are you, kid?”

Lance scowled. “First, stop calling me kid. You’re making this even weirder. And no, I’m not backing out. …you really haven’t killed anyone? Not even for the ‘good guys’?”

“Nope.” Deadpool popped the p. “A little maiming but I checked on all those guys and they’re still alive and kicking. …well. Not that one guy. But kicking is overrated.”

Lance decided to just not ask. And to make a ‘no maiming rule’ for next time.

Not that there was going to be a next time.

“Whatever. Let’s do this.”

“Twice. You said anything I wanted for this too” He held up two fingers. Lance made a face then nodded. That was what he’d said, in the heat of the moment when faced with a thousand some odd ‘sort of zombie’ people walking around the city, yeah. It had been kind of panicky moment and they’d been told to bring whoever they could find.

There was a moment where they just stared at each other, neither moving. Then Deadpool’s head tilted to the side.

“Mask.” Lance blanched, starting to shake his head. He was *not* taking off the mask. If he didn’t take it off for the Avengers, and he didn’t, there was no way in hell he was taking it off for a known mass murderer. Even one who was fairly decent for him and seemed to have an odd vested interest in his well being. “Just roll it up. I’m not trying to see your face.”

He grumbled a little in irritation then did just that, pushing his mask up to just below his nose. Deadpool touched his face, metal fingers cool and, thankfully, blood free. He tilted Lance’s head up and-

“…actually could you shut your eyes? …I’m shy.”

Lance had never heard anything more ridiculous. …aside from the part where he’d agreed to kiss Deadpool. That was pretty ridiculous. But he didn’t want to draw this out (even though if he was being strictly honest Deadpool did look…nice in his skintight black and red suit. Lance would probably appreciate it more if people weren’t constantly mistaking Deadpool for him.) So he closed his eyes.

“Fine. Go. …wait. For all you know my eyes are still open.”

“Nah. You’re a hero. Heroes don’t lie.” Deadpool murmured. “Lying is for guys like me.”

Lance had so many things to say about that. SO MANY. Like, secret identities were kind of lying by omission. And Ironman was pretending to be…well a man. But he was being kissed and it was. Not. Terrible.

Pretty good actually. Deadpool’s lips were chapped, firm, and there as something a little uneven about the way they felt but they fit against his nicely, moved expertly. Gentle and careful, cradeling his face, mint and And, as it turned out, Deadpool didn’t just look good in his suit, he felt pretty nice when he pushed against Lance. Warm and firm and his chest was wide and…okay. So he clearly worked out. That was fine. No big deal. Not. A big deal at all. Lance was an adult. He’d kissed plenty of people. …okay, his high school girlfriend. And his next door neighbor.

But one man’s two was another man’s plenty.

Deadpool’s tongue touched the seam of his lips, swept inside to touch his own lightly. Lance groaned, hand moving on it’s own to touch Deadpool’s chest. He leaned up a little, tried to deepen the contact and-

“I think that’s good.” Deadpool rumbled. “Thank’s K- Baby boy.”

Lance stood where he was, eyes closed and just a tiny bit dazed. Then his eyes snapped open. “What did you call me?”

But the only people in the alley were Lance...and three wide eyed and slightly disgusted looking no-longer hypno-zombied zombies. 

Lance sighed. 

—-

Lance slide into his apartment via the bedroom window, ready for a long like warm shower with next to no water pressure and then some good old fashioned questioning of his life choices. Only to find there was someone sitting on his bed.

And not just someone.

“Widow, what the fuck? You can’t be here.”

Violet eyes blinked at him blandly. “I am.”

“But you can’t. I live here.” Widow’s expression remained decidedly bored, unconcerned with the fact he was basically turning Lance’s life upside down with his presence. “I live here. Me. The person, not me Spiderman. You aren’t supposed to know who I am and you can’t-”

“Lance McClain. 21, student at Empire University. Communications major, though you probably should have gone for art since your photos seem to be bringing in most of your income. You live with your older sister Teresa, 28. She took you in 9 years ago when your parents were killed. Lost her girlfriend, May, during a mugging one years ago but you know all about that already. And so do I. I know exactly what you did, and didn’t, do.” Widow held up a hand to stop Lance’s squawking protest. “You broke up with your long term girlfriend shortly thereafter and have been single since. Guilt or fear of someone else getting hurt on your watch. Or both. Spiderman, relatively new to the scene but Ironman and Hulk like you so they let you hang around, considered a vigilante, popular target for the Daily Lion and it's owner, Zarkon, who you actually sell pictures of yourself too. Cute.”

Lance pressed his lips together then, growling, tore his mask off and tossed it aside. “I could tear your arm off you know. It would take almost no effort.”

Widow shrugged then stood up, stretching some once he was on his feet. “You can try. I don’t think your strength will take you as far as you think.”

“Dude,” Lance frowned. “I’m pretty strong. Not the Hulk or anything but I picked up a bus full of people last week. It was pretty awesome, all over the news and stuff. I’d like to see you pick up a bus. With people in it. Cheerleaders and football players and…seriously, you didn’t hear about that? It was a big-”

“Here.” Widow interrupted, thrusting a plain brown envelope into his hands.

Lance looked at it, noted the name on the take. Shirogane, T, then looked at Widow again. “What is this?”

“A Galra folder on Deadpool I’ve been holding onto. I think you might find it enlightening if you plan to make out in anymore alleyways.” Finally there was a hint of emotion but Lance probably could have done without the derision.

He shook it off.

Well, no, he shot Widow the shittiest look he could muster and waved the folder in his face. “So what? I read this and….stop hanging out with him?”

“If you’re smart. He’s dangerously unstable, barely connected with reality, and destroys everything he touches. Usually for fun.” Widow’s eyebrow went up. “Most people don’t consider not murdering anyone for 3 months worthy of reward.”

Lance felt his cheeks warming up. “That isn’t your business.”

And he had no plans of repeating that or anything. He just didn’t like his home being broken into, by a supposed ally so he could be…lectured on who he hung out with. Not that he hung out with Deadpool and-

“Fuck you.” He added for good measure.

Widow rolled his eyes. “Read the file. Stay away from Deadpool. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

Lance tossed the file onto his bed, next to his mask, and stalked away from Widow the pull open his closet. “But you’re an expert because of some file you read?”

“I’ve known people like him. Whatever you think might happen, whatever you think being nice and inviting him to be a ‘hero’, or rewarding him for good behavior is going to do? You’re wrong. He can’t change.”

“So we give up on people and run off anyone who might not want to do the same? Did the Galra teach you that?”

And. Fine. That was maybe excessively shitty. It was not okay to dredge up the terrorist group that had, supposedly, kidnapped Widow as a kid and brainwashed him into killing a fuckton of people. It was basically like punching a dude in the balls and Lance never ever punched other dude in the balls. …unless the situation was really dire.

He turned, ready to apologize, only to find the room empty and the curtain blowing in the wind.

“How fucking dramatic.” He muttered. “Stupid emo grim dark asshole. And his name _is_ stupid. Doesn’t even make sense but he’s telling me what to do?” 

He grabbed clothes to change into, stripped down, snatched up his towel, and, with one last look at the folder, stalked to his bathroom.

He made it about five steps down the hallway before turning around and grabbing the damn thing up. He stalked out to the kitchen and dropped the folder into the sink. He opened the drawers, grumbling under his breath in irritation the entire time, until he found a big box of matches. He couldn’t remember what they were for, blackouts maybe. Didn’t matter, he was just glad they were there.   

He struck one to life.

This wasn’t his business. It was basically the same as someone coming and taking off his mask and he didn’t want that, did he? So he couldn’t look at any of this.

Right? 


End file.
